Page 42 of Hopeless
Her hands cover her face and then push up through the silky hair I spent the night with my nose pressed into. The smell of the cool rocks and something minty in her hair wrapped around me all night long.
“I’m just so tired,” she says, her voice small and wrung out. Her shoulders droop, and a tear races down her golden cheek. “I work hard to rise above it all, but I am so, so tired of struggling.”
Again, my hand itches. This time, to wipe the tear away.
I don’t bother resisting anymore. With three long strides, I’m standing in front of her. I tug her in, one arm around her shoulders, one hand palming the back of her head, and press her against my chest.
Because I can’t handle staring into her sad fucking eyes.
I expect her to cry, but she doesn’t. She relaxes in my arms, melting against my torso, just like she did all night long.
Like she feels safe enough to be tired around me. To let her guard down.
I want her to have that all the time, which is why I say what I came here to say in the first place, even more sure of myself than I was before. “You’re not fucking living here anymore.”
“I can’t just—”
“I’m not having my fiancée live here.”
“Beau.” Her voice chides me, but her body softens further.
“What, Bailey? No one will believe I’d be okay with you staying here. Just rationalize it that way.”
My arms tighten around her, a little firmer now. She’s not breakable.
“What about my tires?”
She sniffs and I rub a comforting palm over her head, smoothing her hair. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it all.”
“I haven’t moved it anywhere in years. Are you sure it’s okay?”
Bailey is buckled in safely beside me but won’t stop staring out the back of my truck.
At where I have her trailer hooked up.
Because she’s not fucking living there anymore.
She refused to move into my house with me, so I made her my neighbor.
She stood there with her hands on her hips and her jaw hanging down to her feet while I took it upon myself to hook her trailer to the hitch of my truck and take it out of that hellhole.
Those dumbasses slashed the tires on her truck, but not on the trailer. And I used that to my advantage.
“Bailey, it’s fine. I’m going slow and it’s not far.” I have my window down, the sound of the plastic garbage bags fluttering in the wind as we drive.
“I’m sorry.” She faces the front again and slouches down into her seat.
“For what?”
“Being the most high-maintenance fiancée in the world.”
I snort at that. “You are so far from high-maintenance, it’s not even funny. You slept on the ground with me last night.”
A soft smile touches her lips as she looks out the window. “Yeah, I liked that, actually.”
I nod firmly. “Same. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s the best I’ve slept in months. No pills. No alcohol. Just hard ground, fresh air.”
Andher. The only thing that’s come close to working.
